A Curious Case
by infinite.marauder
Summary: AU. Another case has cropped up for consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. This time, his astute mind faces variables and facts that John Watson could hardly believe to be true. And it all centered around a newly orphaned little boy with a lightning scar on his forehead.


Part I. (_Being a reprint from the reminiscences of _John H. Watson, M.D., _late of the Army Medical Department.)_

Mr. Sherlock Holmes

In the year 1981, I found myself seated across the only consulting detective in London. It was two days after all hallows eve and we had just returned from a ghastly prolonged case in which a widower had been missing her deceased husbands material possessions bit-by-bit for the past year. The sheer amount of things we had to recover made what Holmes had stated as an uncomplicated inquest, into a week-long excursion. Her step-children, never approving of their late-fathers marriage to the widower, took it upon themselves to sequester the remaining possessions and divide it between them. The late Mr. Wentwick had eighteen children from his first and second marriage.

It was at this point of exhaustion that I found myself in a new undertaking as Mrs. Hudson informed us that we had a new visitor calling upon my friend. I looked to Holmes, taking in his blood shot eyes. He, however, seemed to rejoice at the thought of another case and bid the landlady to show his visitor in. I took a glance at what could only be his personal syringe with seven-percent-solution peeking out of his Morocco leather case. He tidied it up, finding that he may not need it after all. I found I could no longer find the will to refuse him this case which came so promptly after another. I stood and moved towards the small kitchen I installed where I may start the kettle. It seemed that rest would once again elude us both and it would be best if we had even the tiniest amounts of caffeine in our systems, lest we both end up unconscious during this new escapade.

Mrs. Hudson returned a mere moment later with a woman who, in all intents and purposes, seemed quite uncomfortable with the amount of organized chaos that Holmes had come to call our home. As the kettle called me to attention, I fixed the tea and headed over to our coffee table, setting three cups. I bid our visitor to sit on the most clutter-free surface (my chair), and merely sat on Holmes overgrown armchair. It smelled exceedingly like tobacco.

"Mr. Holmes," she started, "I am here to employ your services due to an unusual and disagreeable situation in which I find myself."

Holmes merely remained standing in the same place he stood when Mrs. Hudson first informed us of this visitor. I am glad to report that he had for once listened to my counsel regarding informing his new clients that he was, of course, aware of why they had come to 221B Baker Street and that they were wasting his time in the occasion where they informed him of such. 'Why else would a someone, not on a social call, come other than to seek my services?', he would argue. I had then informed him that it was social convention , for the guests, to inform him of their intentions in the visit.

"I see," I looked to the woman after taking a sip of tea, "please help yourself to some tea while you inform my companion in this unusual and disagreeable situation."

She eyed the tea a bit distastefully before fixing herself a cup.

"My sister and her husband have been murdered not even two days ago and I woke yesterday morning to find her infant son on my doorstep. I am a married woman with my own young son to care about and have no interest in raising another boy. My sister and I are... detached with each other. Having not spoken since our school years. I am certain that I would be the last person which she would have wanted to leave her boy if anything were to happen to her and that good-for-nothing husband. All that was left with the babe, aside from his blanket, was a letter which spoke of threats if I were to give the child away to an orphanage or another family which would want it. I want nothing to do with the child and I came here first thing, after hiring a babysitter for my child and her babe, to call upon the services of a consulting detective to look into the options of removing this child from my home."

I stared at her, flabbergasted at her tale. This... woman, for I could not think of any word to describe her in the negative light which I found myself casting on her, seemed to want to _give away_ her newly dead sisters' child. Holmes, however, merely continued staring at her while smoking away at his tobacco pipe.

"Cause of death?", he asked her.

"I do not know. All the letter stated was that she and her husband were killed within their own home. Killer and parents had died, the incident leaving nothing but the babe alive."

Holmes paced quite a bit, going over something in his considerable intellect, before speaking again.

"Do you have the letter with you?"

The woman shook her head as she took a sip from her tea. "My husband burned it right after I had let him read it."

"And what would you have me do, madame?" he asked her.

She looked Holmes right in the eye as she spoke the matters that shook me to my core. "My husband is an impatient man, and does not like unusual and disagreeable situations. I do not care about the babe, but I fear that if he remains in my home my husband will himself become one of those criminals you always seem to run after. I want that child out of my house at the soonest possible moment, Mr. Holmes. I have no care of where it goes or who it goes to, as long as I never need to see it ever again. And I do not want those that wrote the letter to either seek my family's company or to return the boy to our... care. I want to wash my hands clean of the matter, Mr. Holmes. Without retribution from those who threatened us after dropping him off at our doorstep."

I could only stare at her slack-jawed. This was quite an unusual case. It was not missing persons, escaped criminals, or even thievery. I was unsure of why they had come to Holmes in the first place.

Holmes let out a long puff of tobacco smoke before uttering, "I accept."

The woman let out a relieved sigh.

"If you leave your home address with my associate here, I shall call upon your home tomorrow at ten o'clock. Do not touch anything which I may find of use. With minimal tampering, I may be able to discover the identities of the letter writers and their reasons for threatening you. My fee, however, will not change. I trust you know it by now, after being referred to me."

She nodded, left a slip of paper on the table before standing and leaving the premises.

I turned to Holmes with a million questions floating about in my mind.

"We better get some rest, Watson. Tomorrow we shall discuss our undertaking for Mrs. Dursley." he was about to enter his room, but I stopped him.

"How did you know her name was Mrs. Dursley?"

He turned to me, a queer look on his face. However, he humored me and began to cite his methods step-by-step as he had done so many times before, "She had already stated she was married. She also had a relatively expensive stone on a white-gold ring resting on her ring finger. This suggests that her husband brings in a relatively good income, but is not on the top rung of his company. She is very concerned with how she appears to others, shown by how her stance has been a perfectly straight one as she stood, with a slightly arched back when seated. This suggested that she is not used to these stances, as she had trouble keeping it for a prolonged period of time. Her face gave away her slight strain. Her clothing suggests that she is not from London, style of dress stating that it was of an upper-middle class budget but from a year ago. The condition of the dress is one which has been seldom worn and is kept well. She wanted to impress me, especially if she had already known my fee. Her shoe has been shined with the same black polish with which I remember seeing on a certain individual from a drill firm. It is a locally made brand which comes from the country. But has ceased production. To have a can of it would suggest that either they have a relative in the country or that they had stocked it up. Judging by the state of the polish, it seems to have been made recently from the scent I picked up from it. A Mr. Vernon Dursley has a sister in the country which he had told me, under disguise from a previous case. He is short-tempered, on the middle ring of a drill firm, and is married with a young child. I deduced that our visitor was in all probability, his wife. A Mrs. Dursley. The Dursley's reside at a suburban county, Surrey."

He turned to his room and shut the door, leaving me with Mrs. Dursley's half full cup of tea, my forgotten one, and Holmes' empty cup. I sighed as I picked the trey up and placed it in the kitchen. I needed more rest than I thought if I would have to keep up with an energetic Holmes. Before heading into my bed, I picked up the piece of paper where Mrs. Dursely had written her home address.

"_Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey"_

Holmes really astounded me at times.

*~)=(~*

After a well-deserved bout of rest, I rose from the confines of my bed and moved towards the common area Holmes and I shared. A cloud of noxious fumes immediately greeted my nostrils. I found Holmes once again in his armchair, smoking profusely, and staring into space. His eyes were unblinking as his incredible mind was once again at work.

"Don't you ever get tired of all the poisonous fumes clouding our commons?" I asked him as I turned to crack open a window.

"I have been on a journey, Watson, one which brought me directly to Privet Drive," he stated as he gave another puff of smoke. "and in my absence, my body has consumed a large amount of whiskey and tobacco. However, I have made up my mind that this case may very well prove to be more riveting than I originally thought."

As I moved to prepare myself and Holmes' some breakfast before setting out to Surrey, he continued explaining his findings.

"Mrs. Dursley's sister and brother-in-law were killed two nights ago, on all Hallows eve. After consulting the backed-up papers we had, I found no mention of a murder that night. Victims and criminal all found dead at the scene. Unknown persons had picked up the sole survivor and whisked him away to Mrs. Dursley's residence. Even the most efficient of government officers would not be able to accomplish such a feat of deciphering the names of the victims, have their wills read, and executed these wills within a few hours. This leaves us with the perpetrators being those who either knew the victims well enough to carry out the wills themselves, or who knew that the victims would be attacked. I say, Watson, this case becomes more and more intriguing the more I am bound to think of it!"

I watched him continue to think and smoke while he ignored the eggs and toast I laid in front of him. I finished up my own breakfast before standing to prepare myself for our visit to Surrey. My bones were still tired from our previous case but this was one which Holmes would not wait to crack, despite his own weariness. He was, afterall, still in the same suit he wore the night before. He must have only rested a few hours at most.

At a quarter to ten, we had arrived at Surrey and were making our way to Number 4 Privet Drive. As his method asked of him, Holmes insisted we walk the neighborhood and he kept his trained eye scuttling from one detail to the next during our walk. We finally stopped in front a home with a well-manicured front lawn, a beautiful rose bush, and a shining number plate proclaiming it as number 4. Holmes and I walked up to the front door and could already hear a screaming toddler asking for more "pow-taters!". We rang the door bell and patiently waited for the screaming to cease. Holmes continued to look at the home before stepping of the doorstep and asking me to do the same. Removing his magnifying glass from his pocket, he inspected the doorstep, then stood up straight as the door started to open.

Mrs. Dursley stood in front of the door in a more common dress and ushered us inside. She pointed to the tea set in her living room and asked us to wait while she went back to a screaming child in the kitchen. We seated ourselves, just as she returned holding a large, round baby with blonde hair seeming plastered on his round face.

"This is my son, Dudley." she informed them, a twinkle of pride appearing in her eyes.

"Yes," Holmes said, with a uninterested tone, "where is the babe of your late-sister?"

From proud to disgusted, her face showed clearly what she thought of her other charge. She pointed to a small door which seemingly led to a cupboard under the stairs. She sat down herself as she bounced her large child on her knee, he giggled.

"I did as you said and touched nothing of what you may gather clues from." she stated.

I stared at her, "Including the child?"

She nodded.

Holmes stood and walked towards the cupboard. He pried it open and a puff of dust exited it. He crouched down for a while, I could not see what he was doing, but after a few minutes, removed what appeared to be a picnic basket from its interior. I stood and walked towards him, crouching down myself to look at what lay within it. The first thing that caught my attention was the putrid smell coming from the diaper which was strapped on the childs bottom. Mrs. Dursley did not lie when she had said she had not touched anything which was associated with the case.

Holmes picked up the child and quickly handed it to me. He began to inspect the basket. I look at the child now in my arms. My training as a physician came over me at once. I asked Mrs. Dursley where I may find fresh diapers and a loo. She pointed me towards a baby bag in the living room and their guest loo. After changing the poor babe, I checked his body for any injuries he could have sustained during his parents demise. His bones seemed all align and his body still help the infant softness that told me he was, at least, healthy. However, he had a curious scar upon his forehead that looked to have been carved there painfully very recently. It was still red and had not closed up properly. Holding a tissue against it could still bring forth a few drops of blood. I was also afraid the child was mute since he had not made a sound our entire visit.

I made my way towards Holmes and found he had already finished inspecting the basket and had moved on to the blanket. Mrs. Dursley continued to play with her son, leaving us with her nephew and his oddities.

"The child is healthy, Holmes. Except he has a curious scar on his forehead. It does not seem infected but is still moderately open. I've never seen such a scar."

Holmes turned his attention from the blanket towards the babe in my arms. He picked the babe up from me and proceeded to turn it around in every which way. Finally, the first sound I had ever heard from it was produced. The child laughed.

"Yes, well. Mr. Potter seems to be an odd fellow." Holmes concluded, as he returned the babe to me. He turned to Mrs. Dursley. "What else can you tell me about your late sister and brother-in-law?"

She scowled at the mention, but answered nonetheless. "She met him at a private boarding school up in Scotland which she attended from ages eleven to seventeen. They married soon after graduation and had that babe. I only ever met him once. He was a despicable fellow. Lily brought him over soon after she graduated from that wretched school to let him meet our parents and myself. He brought his three friends along. I don't remember their names. They made all sorts of fun of me and my parents. Rude bunch as they were. Soon after they had arrived, they had left and I never saw my sister again. I only heard she had gotten married to the oaf from a telegram she had sent. But I do know that the oafs name was James Potter."

"Lily and James Potter." Holmes tested on his tongue. "And what of their son? What is his name?"

"Harry."

Holmes nodded. "Would you happen to have the remains of the letter which your husband had burned?"

She paused, nodded, then put her child down. She moved towards the kitchen and produced a black sheet of burnt paper. Holmes quickly produced a plastic bag from his pocket and placed it inside.

"I wish to conduct an experiment, Mrs. Dursley. I will be leaving your home with young Mr. Potter. If I am correct, you may never see him again as you wished. I expect my fee to be due then. If I am wrong, you will find him once again on your doorstep and I may need to reassess the situation. Do not worry, Mrs. Dursley. I never start a case I cannot finish."

With that, Holmes strode towards me, removed the babe from my grasp, placed the babe back in its basket with its blanket and strode out of the house, baby and basket in hand. I thanked Mrs. Dursley for her hospitality and went after Holmes, unconvinced that he had really hidden away that seven-percent-solution from last night without use after all.


End file.
